Trying to Revel in the Mess

If I'm honest, I can't function well in a messy home. I don't like to throw around the term "OCD," because I know that's a very real disorder for some. But I do feel a high degree of discontentment and anxiety when my house is untidy. (I realize it's never actually that untidy, so I guess it's relative.) 

But having an eight month old? Yeah, it can get a bit cluttered here and there. Not to mention, now that he's crawling like it's his job, it's not at all uncommon to see dust bunnies stuck to his precious grubby hands and feet. (Oh, the joys of an 87-year-old house, which could be mopped and vacuumed five times a day and still manifest dirt and dust.)

Memories are being made, discoveries are around every corner, and he's enjoying the beauty of choice and learning to keep himself occupied in his own little world. I try to cling to this and remember that I serve him so much better as a mom by crawling on the ground with him than I do fixating on the less-than-pristine floor. 

But sometimes, honestly, I just see the stuff, things to be picked up, and chores that are begging for my attention. This is yet another area where I feel pulled in competing directions, and, as usual, I know that one direction is better than others in terms of honoring what truly matters. 

So rather than stressing out over wayward blocks, burp clothes and fuzzy friends strewn here and there (especially as Ash travels from room to room at will), I will try to remind myself that each of these "messes" are precious gifts. One day I'll look back on these relics and pine for the days of dirty knees and slobbery smiles.

And now I've made my own damn self cry.


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